Just Your Average Day At The Beach
by J. Puddles
Summary: Sherlock and Irene take their daughter to the beach for the day. As Sherlock and his daughter play, Irene causes trouble. M-rated for language. One off.


A/N - I have changed some of this fic - but it's where I've made grammar mistakes.

The sea swallows his bare feet momentarily as the tide of water crashes over its human barrier. The water is freezing, despite the boiling days of the past week, however Sherlock doesn't wince with its lack of warmth. It's not because he thinks he has something in common with it – that he is cold at heart, a cold entity- it's because he has grown custom to the coldness of the sea and its flow and its magnificent being. An endless amount of small white horses race each other to the sandy beach but more often than not, flatten and die out before they reach their final destination: the shore. In comparison, the day is warm. There are more kites littering the sky than there are clouds however the wind doesn't make the day cold. The wind is, in fact, a nice contrast to the chilly water and heavy heat.

Children and adults of all ages stand knee-to-waist high in water trying to jump over the waves and not to be caught by them, which come in pursuit of the land. Those who are not jumping around in the sea still play in the open water – some perform handstands with new found friends trying to see who can hold their breath the longest. Others have water fights with siblings with last years' water guns, or simply use their arms and hands to throw and splash anyone who comes near them. There is one couple who are breast deep in water playing with a water ball -a Waboba-, skimming it across the water, much like one does with a flat stone on a lake or river. Those further out swim, sail, surf and kayak trying not to collide with one another, or go too close to shore where they could get grounded. Some of those nearer Sherlock, stand as he is, facing the vastness of the sea, the possibilities and impossibilities that it holds. They think of what the sea holds, and its history. What the sea has held and the sights it has seen – some even think if it acting like the meandering river in the poem _River God. _Some of those standing look to the right and left of them. The sandy beach runs on for miles. The last thing they can see in their eye line is sand, and people further along on the beach. Heck – they're on the same stretch of land but in different places, different towns. If they look straight into the sea, they can see the curvature of the Earth. Insignificant if one thinks about it momentarily, but mesmerising if one ponders on it for a while. This is something which Sherlock does – seeing the curve in the Earth and his view being stopped because the rest of the earth is too far away to see and he feels like an ant. No, he feels smaller than an ant, but at the same time, much bigger than it.

The waterlogged sand beneath Sherlock's feet has made a temporary cast of his feet which will be washed away and forgotten when he moves and the next tide or burst of water laps it up making him untraceable as the sand levels out again.

The beach is also full of sounds. The mini-amusement park behind him plays a variety of pop music going back from three years ago, or to the 1980s. Each day brings a different year. Listening carefully Sherlock could also hear the tinny music of the arcades. He was surrounded by noise from people, too: children laughing and shouting; the sound of seagulls above him; the clanging of a bucket and spade together; the sound of the sea bashing itself against the shore; and every so often, someone shouting 'COLD' as they enter the sea – stating the obvious.

* * *

Sherlock turns and looks behind him. Irene is sat on the sandy beach near the steps which provide access to the beach. She's holding a book, but disinterested in it. Instead, she's looking out to sea, or rather to Sherlock, smiling at him. She also gives him a small wave when she realises that he's looking at her.

But there is something wrong, almost something missing. He stares at Irene as if he's forgotten something. And then he realises when a small hand grabs his wrist and starts pulling it. He looks down. A child. A young girls stands next to him on his left. She has dark brown hair and blue eyes, much like her mother. She's wearing a white t-shirt that is far too big for her and green shorts underneath. Now Sherlock realises why Irene was looking at him. She was partially admiring him, but making sure her little girl got safely to her father.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy!" the girl chirped, still pulling on his wrist.

Sherlock pulled away, her grasp was frightening.

"Daddy! Mummy said that we could play in the water together! Could we… please?" It was as if she was begging.

Before he replied to his daughter, he turned to Irene. She was pretending to read her book, he fathomed. Her eyes were smiling, and she had applied a fresh layer of red lipstick. Typical. She had planned this, and knew what his response would be.

"Please daddy? Can we play? I won't splash you." The young girl looked into her father's eyes when she said this – she was being truthful. She wouldn't splash her father in any way, shape or form, unless he moved first.

"Anouk, no. You know daddy doesn't like the sea. And the germs, think of the germs. Urgh." Sherlock began to scrunch up his face and she started to laugh both at his gesture and his speech.

"But you're standing in it!" She observed, smiling.

"Oh, so I am," he said pretending to be shocked, looking at her briefly.

"You lied." Anouk sounded sad, but it was the temporary sadness that children get.

"MY DADDY'S A L.I.A.R! A LIAR. A LIAR! A L.I.A.R. Do you hear me?" She announced to the beach. A few people around them looked with little concern.

"Anouk, no one wants to hear your spelling achievements. We know you're top in the class in everything." He said, tapping her nose. She giggled again.

"But…"

Before Anouk could say anything else, Sherlock had picked her up and slung her over his shoulders, as if in a fireman's lift. She started screaming and laughing in delight as Sherlock spun her round.

"Daddy!" she managed to blurt out.

Sherlock spun to see Irene once again. She lifted a towel up in the air. He was safe. He, and Anouk wouldn't have to walk home, it would just mean that they would have to strip off and change on the beach –in full view of everyone. However this had now become a mandatory obligation every time they went to the beach, as there was nowhere else for them to change.

Sherlock started running in to the sea with his daughter on his shoulders, contentedly saying, nay screaming "Daddy, daddy, put me down!" in between bursts of laughter. Aiding her protest, she was wriggling under his grasp trying to hit and kick him in protest.

It was all a show, and both of them knew it.

When the sea reached the bottom of Sherlock's ribs, he stopped in the water.

"Did you say you wanted to go down?" He asked to make sure Anouk really wanted to do this. She was still laughing and screaming.

"Do the drop!" She squealed.

Sherlock let her roll forward and plop straight into the water. She could hardly stand in the water when she bobbed up. It was gushing over her head so Sherlock pulled her back onto him.

"Again!" She said, spitting out a mouthful of water. There would be a couple of cans of coke with her name on it when she got back to the car.

Sherlock cupped his hands together and she stood on them. When she was safely balanced Sherlock pushed upwards and Anouk dived elegantly into the water.

Sherlock realised that Anouk hadn't turned round when she finished diving, but had carried on swimming into the deeper sections of the sea. The places were Sherlock couldn't even _touch the sand_ in the sea.

"Anouk!" he called. He felt that his voice was drowned out by the other shrieking children and families at the beach. "Anouk!"

Sherlock went in pursuit after his daughter. She was one of the two living things that made him get up every day.

Anouk stopped, realising she was being chased. The game, was over. It was off.

She laughed when she realised her daddy had been scared.

"Daddy, did I scare you?" She seemed proud of her achievements – only major things seemed to scare him.

"Yes. You scared daddy very much." He pulled Anouk onto his back and his wrapped her arms around his neck. Thankfully, she didn't use one of her death holds, or use the tight grip she had done earlier on Sherlock's wrist.

"You can have one last go, at jumping in." Sherlock said. He was out of breath from swimming. He had forgotten how tiring it was swimming carrying things.

"Shoulders." Anouk said. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. She was going to jump from his shoulders.

"Fine," he sighed, "But this really is your last go." Sherlock heaved her up onto his shoulders where she precariously stood. There was now a small gathering of people watching them where the sea met the sand.

_If Irene has anything to do with they'll be trouble_, Sherlock thought.

He smiled at the gathering, and Anouk gave a wave. She, like her father, was not one to shy away from attention.

"You ready kiddo?" He said.

"Gooooooooooooo!" She exclaimed jumping into the water, cannon ball style, in front of him.

Before Sherlock went to make sure Anouk was alright (it sounded like a bad landing) he heard someone behind him running. _It was Irene._

"Oh Sherlock, my love," she placed delicate kiss on his cheek.

The crowd looked more like an angry mob. Some, as if ready to pounce, had already entered the water.

"What have you done?" Sherlock spat.

"Mummy!" Anouk called, as she resurfaced. She had sat on the sea floor distilling the water, and was covered slightly in sand.

"I may have said that a child had wondered off with a man and they were now in the water." She gazed at him lovingly.

"And you chose me?" Sherlock was confused.

"Of course I chose you."

"Was your book _that_ boring?"

"Mmm-uh," Irene looked innocent mumbling this. She rubbed her nose against his neck and then kissed it, as if she was saying that he could have his revenge later.

"It's.. It's fine. My wife, here, got a little carried away in the book that she was _err_ reading and failed to figure out the difference between the words written _in front of her_ and the real people who were also _in front of her."_

"Yes, my mistake." She looked at the crowd of people. "I'm terribly sorry, you can go back to enjoying our day now."

But, as always, life within the Holmes's household was never simple. Anouk, with the looks of her mother, and the brains of her father had twigged, figuring out the situation.

"Have you come to rescue me?" She said to the gathering. Anouk had already started swimming to the shore.

There was a mumbling coming from the crowd. Words such as 'conspiracy', 'abducted' and 'poor child' echoed throughout.

"Anouk, don't be silly. Come back here." Irene called. It was useless.

Safely at the beach Anouk had started to play-cry. One of the men had given her a blanket, and another a jumper.

"I'm not Anouk!" She yelled. "I'm Winnie!"

"Anouk. You're not called Winnie. You're Anouk. You…" Sherlock realised it was no use speaking to Anouk, it would be better if he spent his breath on the audience. "She does this everywhere we go. On her first day of school, last year, she went crying to the teacher that no one had come to pick her up. Only we had done. She does it for attention."

"It's not true," cried Anouk. "He's been throwing me in the water. I asked him to put me down but he kept throwing me down in the water and dragging me back when I tried to swim away." A couple of people at the front of the crowd tried to comfort her as crocodile tears streamed down her face. It really was an award winning performance.

Sherlock had taken his eyes of the crowd to see someone he recognised running in the water near the shore.

"Is that?" Sherlock asked, Irene followed his eyes. It was.

"Gregory" Irene said.

"Gary," Sherlock offered. Wrong.

"Gary?" Irene looked perplexed.

* * *

Out of breath, slightly late and mildly furious the famous DI Gregory Lestrade turned up out of breath and panting. The crowd was confused.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Can't I have to have one trip out with _my family_ without you getting involved?" Trailing after the DI were two of his sons shouting, 'Dad, dad! Wait for us!"

"Police, here. It's fine. I can sort it. _Again," _The DI's 'again' was inaudible to most, but aimed at Sherlock. He waved his ID badge to the audience. The badge never left his side, not with Sherlock out and about.

"How come we don't know it's a fake," said a man in the crowd, he was unamused.

A woman shouted, "Hey! He might be in on it too!"

"Because it's got my name, date of birth, rank… Everything you pillocks!" The DI shouted back. "And yes, I'm in on it. Bra-vo." He answered sarcastically.

"Greg!" shouted Anouk dropping the towel and jumper.

"Are you content now?" asked Gregory to the gathering, but they had already started to disperse. Some however, stayed.

Gregory dropped down and picked her up. "We're all playing," Anouk whispered into Lestrade's ear.

"I gathered," he whispered back.

"You two, with me." Gregory ordered at Sherlock and Irene. "NOW!" he bellowed when they didn't move. Begrudgingly they moved out of the water.

"You sick bastards," one called out as Sherlock and Irene passed, smiling.

Anouk looked back to her mother and father whilst Gregory was carrying her. She stuck her tongue out. Sherlock replicated the action, whilst Irene smiled giving her the thumbs up.

As usual, their day out turned out to be fun for them. Worrisome for other parents. And stressful for DI Lestrade.

Great.


End file.
